Torture From Deprived Love

Think for once why you lost him, twice why you kissed me And thrice why you met me – patient how much should I be? To endure this, pain but as pain and plague at full cry; Within the borders of this life when everything is just so sly. To have awoken enamoured and deeply attracted to your charms, With sincerity and a desire to hold you but in my arms – But what anguish does it give me hence? And what plight? The deprivation of finest and divinest kisses of goodnight. But what pleasure does it give me thus? And what thought? The deracination from me of the lips that I dearly sought, – So, what feeling of love so profound can be satisfied fairest, When you, the lady that I so much love cannot love me best; ‘O who shall love you but as I do?’ I enquire – And you say, piteously: ‘Everything is up to the Holy Sire!’